We'll Meet Again
by bourbon
Summary: Jordan and Woody are separated by difficult circumstances for a year. Will they meet again? And will their feelings be the same when they do? WJ Pairing. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I debated on whether or not to write this story. It's very similar in subject matter to one written by NCCJFAN called "War and Peace. If you haven't read it already, by all means, do. Like all her stuff, it's great. In the end, I decided to go ahead and write it. As part of a military family, I've been wrestling with the themes for awhile, and a lot of things Jordan and Woody go through are stuff I've experienced. It's a really personal story, and I wanted to get it out on paper. Catharsis is good for the soul! (Apologies, Doc S. I only hope mine is half as good as yours!)_

_XXXXX_

_It meant something._

Her hand had shaken as she lifted the glass of shiraz to her lips.

"God knows _what_," she told Pollack and laughed through the tears that had pooled in her eyes. "But it meant something."

And now Woody was here, standing in the doorway of the restaurant, scanning the room for her.

_It meant something._

She caught his eye and waved him over, smiling at the memory of the week before: the feel of his body pressed against hers, the brush of his fingertips on her skin, the way he had curved himself around her as they lay tangled, breathless, in the sheets.

Yes. It meant something.

He crossed to her and bobbed awkwardly, trying to decide just what kind of hug or kiss was in order. He finally decided on a quick kiss on the cheek and dropped into his seat with a nervous, "Hey, Jordan..."

"Hey..." She smiled as she passed him his menu. "I'm glad you could come," she said with forced casualness. "I've been wanting to try this place for months."

"Okay, just give it to me straight, Jordan," he said and put the menu down without opening it. "Because I've been going crazy since you called this morning and said you wanted to have lunch."

"Woody, it's not..." she tried to stop. He frowned and went on.

"Just tell me. You and Pollack are deliriously happy and are going to run off and make a bunch of Aussie babies."

She dropped her eyes onto her lap and fiddled with her napkin. "Pollack and I are over."

There was a beat. "You told him."

She looked back up and shook her head slowly. "He guessed."

"Oh." Woody ran a hand through his hair, and she watched the emotions play over his face while the news sink in. "What does this mean?" He asked cautiously, and then added in a soft voice, "For _us?_" as if he could hardly dare to refer to them as one.

She had gone over that question countless times since the night before. After she had said those last words to Pollack, he had unhooked her doorkey from his chain and laid it gently on the counter. With a soft kiss on her forehead, he was gone.

She had drained the rest of the bottle of wine and then curled up on her bed and fallen asleep, still in her clothes, without ever having turned the light on.

It meant something, but even as the memories of their night together still flooded her senses, she knew that she had no idea _what _it meant.

She struggled for words before going on. "I don't know what it means for us, Woody. I hurt someone I cared about last night because I don't know my own mind. I can't get into that situation again. Not with you. I just feel like I've been the star of my own personal soap opera for too long. When you were shot, and then..._after_. All the anger and the hostility..."

"But we're past that, Jordan," he interrupted.

"I don't know. Are we?" His eyes fell back to the table, and she went on gently. "I feel like we're just getting back on track. Don't get me wrong, the other night was..._wonderful_." She smiled and let her fingers fall onto the back of his hand. "I don't want to pretend in never happened. But we rushed into things physically. I don't want to rush it emotionally. I just want to _be_ for awhile, and figure out how I feel."

His jaw tightened, and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "So...what are you saying? We're over before we even started? You don't want to be with me?"

She let a heavy sigh escape. "No, that's not what I mean, Woody. I don't want to be with _anyone_ right now. I just ended the first relationship I've had in a long time. I don't know which way is up! Things are just..." She threw up her hands with a shrug, knowing there were no words to fully explain the mess she had gotten herself into.

He placed his hands on the table and began to push himself away. "Okay, Jordan. If that's what you want. Look, I've got to get back to work. I've got a deposition..." He wasn't being angry or petulant. He seemed genuinely hurt, almost ashamed.

She reached out for him, but he took a step backwards. "I'm sorry if that's not the answer you wanted, Woody. Hey! We're friends, right? We can still hang out," she said with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. "There's a new tapas bar around the corner. What do you say? Saturday night at 8? Tapas?"

"Sure. Friends, Jordan. Sounds like fun." He dropped a couple of bills on the table and hurried out.

XXXXXXX

Her apartment seemed more empty than usual. Last night, there had been too many men in her life. Now, there were none. Far from feeling liberated, she felt more confused than ever.

She had thought that keeping Woody at arm's length was the right thing to do. They had made love, and it _had_ been wonderful: tender and passionate at the same time. She had felt wrapped in a warmth that she hadn't known in a long time, not even with Pollack, perhaps not ever.

But was that enough to sustain them? Was that enough to overcome the angry words and hurt they had traded since he had been shot? She had thought the answer was no.

Until now, as she sat in her empty apartment. It is a rare thing, she suddenly understood, to feel as safe and loved as she had in Woody's arms that night. It was not to be dismissed with a promise of mere friendship the way she had dismissed Woody at lunch that day.

She had to at least try. She owed him that. She owed _them_ that.

She picked up the phone and dialed his number. He answered on the first ring.

"Hoyt..." he said in a tense rush, and she immediately had the sense that he had been expecting someone else.

"Woody? It's Jordan." There was a beat, and in it, came the feeling that something was wrong.

"Jordan...I was just about to call you."

"Oh? Great minds think alike, huh? Well, I really wanted to talk to you..."

"I'm going to have to cancel tomorrow," he interrupted with force. "I won't be able to make it."

"Oh...sure. Well. Maybe next week?"

There was another pause. "No. Not next week. Something's come up, Jordan."

Yes, something was very wrong, indeed. She eased herself onto the edge of the bed. "Woody, what is it?"

"I just got a call from my guard unit."

She had never thought much about his Air National Guard commitment. She wasn't even sure what he did. It always seemed to her like he was a kid who ran off to his secret clubhouse to play "soldier" one weekend a month and two weeks a year.

"Oh, yeah. Your 'weekend warrior' thing. What, you guys playing paintball this weekend or something?" She tried to laugh off the uneasy sense of dread.

"We're being activated, Jordan."

"Activated? Like..."

"They're sending us overseas. To Iraq."

The news hit her like a physical force, and the air felt as if it had been sucked from her chest. "But you said your unit was too vital to homeland security. You said they wouldn't send you overseas."

"Things change. 'Needs of the Air Force'...etc. etc.," he said wearily.

She took a deep breath. "How long?"

He paused for a moment. "At least a year." She bit her lip to keep from crying. "Jordan, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. We must have a bad connection," she covered.

"We're leaving Sunday morning. I was hoping you could give me a ride out to Hanscom. I don't want to leave my car on base for a year. It'll get trashed. Are you free?"

"Of _course_."

There was a thick silence. "I'm sorry things didn't work out. Jordan." He could have meant the cancelled date or their doomed relationship. It was all the same. "Well, I've got to go. I've got a lot of calls to make. I've got to get my stuff together..."

"Sure. I'll see you Sunday. Around 9:00?" she said, trying to sound upbeat.

"That's fine. Goodbye, Jordan."

There was such a ring of finality about it, that she found she could not respond, and she sat there with the phone clutched in her hand long after he had hung up.

Finally, she set the phone on her bedside table, rose, and busied herself as best she could.

She wouldn't cry. He would be fine.

He would be _fine._


	2. Saying Goodbye

He was standing on the corner outside his building wearing a tan flight suit and a desert camouflage jacket, an overstuffed duffle bag at his feet.

She had never seen him in uniform, and the reality of it sent an involuntary shiver through her. She felt tears spring to her eyes. He couldn't see her this way.

She pulled up to the curb and leaned across the passenger seat. "Hey, soldier," she said seductively through the open window. "Need a lift?"

He grinned as he opened the back door and threw his bag in. "Soldier? God forbid. We're _airmen_, not _soldiers_!"

"Sorry. I guess I don't know my military lingo," she said as he slid into the seat and took off his hat. "Hey, nice hair."

His hand flew self-consciously to the stubble at his neckline. "Yeah, they're pretty lax about hair-length in the Guard. On active duty, it's another story. We all had to get haircuts yesterday. What do you think? Do I look like Tom Cruise in _Top Gun_?"

She could see down to his scalp at the back and sides of his head, but the barber had left an unruly shock of dark hair on top. She smiled and rolled her eyes playfully as she pulled away from the curb. "More like Tom Hanks in _Forrest Gump_."

"That bad?"

"No. It's actually kind of growing on me."

It was a half-hour drive to Hanscom Air Force Base. She tried to make light chit-chat, but it was hard to ignore the heaviness that had descended on them as they drew closer.

She felt her throat close in as they approached the front gate. He signed her in at the Visitor's Center, and they took the long perimeter road around to the flight line. It all seemed so alien to her. Men and women in anonymous green fatigues saluted each other snappily, planes buzzed overhead, and somewhere, she heard the ominous sound of artillery file.

She slipped into the parking lot next to the flight line. Woody wordlessly grabbed his bag from the back seat, and they walked out onto the tarmac to where several planes sat on the runway: great, grey birds that hardly seemed capable of flight.

"What is _that_?" she said pointing ahead.

"That?" He laughed admiringly. "That baby is the C-130! The good old 'Dirty One-Thirty!'"

"You're not going to fly in that thing all the way over the Atlantic, are you?"

"I'm not going to just fly _in_ that thing, Jordan. I am going to _fly_ that thing."

She blinked in confusion. "You're going to fly it? Like as in _pilot_?'

"No, I'm not a pilot. I'm a navigator. Don't tell the pilots," he said conspiratorially, "But we're the ones who actually fly the planes."

"You're a navigator?" she teased. "You get lost in the _mall_, and they expect you to find Iraq?" A half-smile pulled at one corner of his mouth, and then she drew her eyebrows together. "Wow, you're a navigator. I didn't know that, Why didn't I know that?"

He shrugged lightly. "You never asked."

She _had_ never asked. She knew that he had joined the Air National Guard in high school to earn money for college after his father had been killed, and she knew he had this other life that he ran off to each month, but she had always been vaguely uncomfortable with the military life and everything it entailed.

"So." She drew in a deep breath. "What is it that you're going to be doing over there? Are you allowed to tell me?"

"Jordan, I'm not in the _CIA_, I'm in the Air National Guard," he said with a comforting laugh. "The C-130 is mostly a transport plane. We'll be hauling cases of Ultra-Soft Charmin for the generals and ferrying around some USO girls, if we're lucky. It's pretty dull."

"But it's _Iraq_."

"I'll be safe and sound in a heavily fortified compound most of the time, Jordan. We've got air-conditioned tents and free DVDs and all the Lucky Charms you can eat. I'm probably in more danger walking down the streets of Boston. I'll be _fine_."

She grimaced. She knew that he had meant to make her feel better, but she also knew just how dangerous walking down the streets of Boston had been for him.

The tarmac was crowded with families saying goodbye to their loved ones. They hadn't married soldiers, they had married school teachers, airline pilots, and mechanics, and now found themselves sending their loved ones to war. She stood awkwardly in the middle of it. She was an outsider, and she felt as if she were intruding on their private grief.

A mother-to-be ran a hand over her round belly as her husband brushed at her silent tears. A young woman in fatigues rocked her infant daughter in her arms, knowing that she would miss her first words, her first steps. Next to Jordan, a wife looked on in pain while her airman husband gathered their sobbing four-year-old daughter into his arms. She felt her own eyes well up.

Woody saw her watching the sad little scene. "They say it's tougher for the family members," he said. "I'm glad I'm not leaving anyone behind like that."

She nodded and blinked back her tears. "Yeah. I don't think I could live that way. Being the 'little woman' back home. It's not for me."

He caught her eye, and she looked away again quickly. "So, Jordan, when you called the other night. You said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Oh, that. It doesn't matter anymore." She gave him a wave of her hand.

There was a silence. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. "Does it ever seem like someone up there is trying to tell us something? We just don't seem to be able to catch a break, do we?"

"I guess we just weren't meant to be," she said in a rough voice, and then added dramatically, "But we'll always have Littleton." It was supposed to be a light joke to break the tension, but he looked back at her with dark eyes, and the laugh died in her throat.

"Poor kid." His eyes had cut back over to where the young airman's daughter clutched at her father, and he gently tried to pry her arms from around his leg. "A year is a long time, Jordan. A lot can happen. If I don't come back..."

"You said you were going to be fine!"

"Even if I _do_ come back. Feelings change. I wouldn't expect you to put your life on hold, Jordan."

She wanted to speak. She opened her mouth to tell him something, anything, not to leave things like that, but the propellers of the C-130 began to spin, and the engines blasted. "Well, my ride's here," he joked over the thunder. His eyes dropped onto hers, and his smile was gone. "I guess I should go."

She nodded in resignation. "Can you write or call me?"

"I'll try and write, but I don't think I'll be able to call. We can only patch calls through to family members." They stood looking awkwardly at each other, not altogether sure of what to say or what they now meant to each other. "Thanks for the lift, Jordan."

He grabbed his bag and was gone before she could speak. It wouldn't end this way, without another word or even a brief, platonic hug. She called out to him.

"Woody! Wait!" He seemed at first not to hear over the roar of the plane, and she called out again. He stopped and turned around, cocking his head as if he hadn't been sure if he had heard something. She waved her arms over her head, and he dropped his bag on the tarmac.

She was in his arms then, her mouth on his, and his fingers were caught up in her hair. He was smiling at her when she opened her eyes, and he kissed at a tear on her cheek. She ran her fingers over his face, wanting to burn every curve and line of it into her memory. He mouthed the words, "I'll be back," but his voice was lost in the roar of the engines.

The planes took off one by one, screaming down the runway. She stood and watched Woody's plane until it was a dot in the sky.

She sped home, dropping her keys and her coat inside the doorway and sat crossed legged on her bed in front of her laptop, her heart racing. She typed "C-130" into the Google search window and hit return. Her search results popped up, and she clicked on the first one: an Air Force FAQ sheet. Her head swam with the meaningless technical jargon and specs on fuel capacity and minimum landing requirements.

But her eyes zeroed in words that jumped out her ominously. Infiltration. Exfiltration. High-threat environment. Blacked-out landings. She didn't know what it all meant, but she suddenly knew that his job was much more dangerous than delivering toilet paper to the brass.

She gently closed her laptop and curled up on the bed, allowing herself the tears that she had fought for too many days.


	3. The Call

She dreaded going into work the next morning. Her life had done a complete turn-around in the 55 hours since she had left work on Friday evening, and there would be the inevitable questions, not all of which she was sure she could answer even if she wanted to.

She tried to keep the explanations as quick as possible. Pollack was gone, Woody had been deployed to Iraq, and she let her co-workers fill in the blanks of the unspoken: _something_ had happed between Woody and Jordan.

"It's about time," Nigel muttered under his breath in the coffee room, and Lily poked him in the ribs.

Someone suggested they organize a care package, and they comforted her and each other with reassurances that Woody would be all right and the year would pass quickly. The worried glances they traded among themselves suggested they feared otherwise.

She threw herself into work, and it was a welcome distraction. Something about the solitude was oddly comforting, and long after dark that night, she was sitting at her desk trying to concentrate on a stack of paperwork when Nigel rapped lightly at her office door.

"You still here, Jordan?"

"Double shift. I...didn't really want to go home."

He nodded in understanding. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm fine. I'll be fine. _Thanks_." She had been avoiding them all day, and it felt good to finally talk.

He wandered in and sat on the sofa. "Wartime romance. It's heady stuff, isn't it?"

She frowned at him and flipped over a page of her file. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"My mum's older sister fell in love with an American G.I. in WWII. They met at a canteen in London. The invasion was coming any day, and they couldn't bear to be apart, so they eloped. Three days later, he was sent off to Normandy."

"So, what happened?"

His face fell, as if he suddenly regretting bringing it up. "He was killed at Omaha Beach. They'd been married less than a week."

"Gee, thanks for the heart-warming story, Nige."

"I suppose when emotions are high, it's easy to get carried away," he went on carefully.

She looked up from her file. "What? Are you talking about me? Come on, Nigel! Woody and I are adults. We're not going to get carried away. It's 2006, not 1944. We're just going to take it slowly and see what happens when he gets back."

He watched her there for a moment and then stood. "Well, I'm off." He paused in the doorway. "He's going to be okay, Jordan," he said quietly.

Her head popped up from her desk, and she felt the tears dampen her eyes. She couldn't speak and nodded quickly before Nigel smiled at her reassuringly and left her to herself.

She moved as if in a fog those first days. She was emotionally drained, not just from Woody's departure, but from the turmoil of the last few months. She missed Woody, of course. Even in friendship, he had been an important part of her life, and she felt his absence keenly. But it was more than that. She ached now with worry for him.

Death was an ever-present spectre in his life on the force, she knew that all too well. But this was something different altogether. Suddenly, it seemed a very real possibility that he would not be returning to her in a year.

She gave up watching the news. Nightly reports of downed helicopters and suicide bombers in Baghdad became too painful. She watched stories of hometown funerals where the mothers and widows stood in shock, gripping pictures of their lost loved ones, and she thought with icy fear: _That could be me._

She got a card from Woody two weeks after he left telling her that he'd arrived safely and all was well. She raced to the drug store and stood for a half hour in front of the card rack looking for something appropriate to send him. The cards were either too sentimental or too impersonal, and it occurred to her she had no idea what she wanted to say. Confessions of love? Newsy chit-chat? Breezy banter? She wound up buying a box of generic note paper and struggled for hours striking just the right tone.

It was easy to fall into a kind of routine. Every day simply became something to get through as she waited for some word. She checked her email ten times an hour and ran up the stairs of her building into the lobby each night, hoping there might be a letter. Each day, there was nothing.

And then as the February chill had finally broken, there was a letter in her mailbox. There was no postage stamp, just a purple hand stamp from the Post Office reading: COMBAT ZONE -- NO POSTAGE DUE.

Her heart lurched as sat on the stairs and tore open the envelope. It was a few hastily scratched lines on scrap paper. He was well, and the Air Force was keeping him very busy, although he was very vague about what he was actually doing. He thanked her for the care package and asked her to send more baby wipes and Q-tips, if she had a chance.

He signed his name, and then underneath, in a different ink, as if he had added it just before sealing the letter:

_I miss you. I think about you and the Lucy Carver Inn often._

She clutched the letter to her chest and then re-read it three more times before she went upstairs and laid it on her bedside table, where she read it many more times before finally turning out the light.

Winter melted into spring. Garret was arrested for another DUI, and Renee had no choice but to let the charges stand. He got off with a fine and community service, but it was the wake-up call he needed to finally seek treatment.

Lily and Jeffrey Brandau's relationship blossomed. She had just moved in with him, and there was talk of an engagement, leaving Bug more morose than ever.

Jordan got back into running and had signed up for a few 5Ks around Boston that spring. She had just returned from a Saturday morning run when she heard the phone ring on the other side of her door. She fumbled with her keys and made it just before the call dropped into voicemail.

There was only a hissing noise, and then a voice that sounded as if it were coming from the end of a very long tunnel.

"Jordan! Jordan can you hear me? It's Woody!"

"Woody! How are you? _Where_ are you?" she sputtered, a thousand questions churning through her mind. "I thought you couldn't call!"

"A buddy of mine works the switchboard at Hanscom, and he patched me through as a favor. Listen, I don't have long. I just wanted to hear your voice," he said achingly. "God, it's great to hear your voice, Jordan."

"It's great to hear you, too." She let out a peal of giddy laughter. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. I can barely make you out. How are _you_? How is everything?"

"Fine! Same old, same old. Yesterday, we had..." There were noises in the background: voices, the roar of a plane engine. "Woody? You there?"

"Look, I've got to cut this short. I just wanted...I just wanted to say I love you, Jordan." His voice was full of a weary longing. "You don't have to say you love me. You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to tell you that."

There was a silence. She couldn't breathe. "Woody..."

"I've got to go. I'll try and call you again soon."

And then he was gone, leaving her with only the crackle of static in her ear.

She had known that the word would be spoken sooner or later, but she hoped she would be more prepared. She had told herself that she wouldn't get in too deep. This...this separation, this uncertainty and fear was hard enough as it was. Could she dare let herself love him?

But it was too late, of course, and she knew it. She did love him. Not just a romantic love, or the love of a platonic friendship, but a deep, abiding love that was not to be shaken. It had never been easy for her to say those words, and she could count the number of times she had said it, but she would say it to him.

She waited, but he didn't call again, and she fell back into the same routine of checking her inbox and waiting for the mail.

It was one of the first warm days of spring. She had taken a rare vacation day to blow off work. The morning news was on with the sound muted as usual, as she waited for the weather report.

She sat on the soda tying her shoes for a run when her eye caught something on the screen. It was a reporter standing in front of an airplane. She frowned. It looked familiar. It was the kind of plane Woody flew.

She fumbled for the remote and turned the sound up. The grim-faced reporter gestured to the plane behind him. "It was an American C-130 transport plane like this one. It was returning from a nighttime sortie in Northern Iraq when witnesses on the ground say it started to plummet before making a crash landing. Sources say that the injured crew members were taken to Landstuhl Military Hospital in Germany. It is not known at this time whether there were any fatalities..."

No. Surely not. It wouldn't be Woody's plane, would it? Of all the C-130s in Iraq...

"No. No," she heard herself saying out loud. She flipped over to CNN. They were running the same story, but there were no more details.

She sat glued to the set for hours, numbly flipping back and forth between all the news channels, hoping for some word. It was afternoon when her phone rang, and she nearly jumped from her skin.

"Hello..." a voice began uneasily. "Could I speak with Jordan Cavanaugh, please?"

In an instant, she knew with heart-stopping fear that the call she dreaded had come. She felt as if a hole had opened up in the middle of her. "Speaking..."

"This is Mike Stahl. I'm a buddy of Woody's from the Guard. He gave me your number before he left just in case he..." He cleared his throat. "I don't even know if I should be telling you this..."

"What? What is it? Is it Woody? What's happened?"

"You've probably heard it on the news already. The C-130 that crashed?"

"Yes..." she said, and her mouth had gone dry. There hardly seemed a need for him to go on.

"It was one of ours. It was Woody's plane."


	4. Two Little Words

She was on that evening's flight to Frankfurt, Germany.

It had seemed like the only thing to do, and as soon as she hung up with Mike, she had called the airline to make her reservations. She would fly to Frankfurt and then rent a car for the drive to Landstuhl Military Hospital. She had nowhere to stay, no idea if she could even make it inside the hospital, but only one thing mattered: Woody was hurt, and she had to be with him.

Details were sketchy, and even Mike couldn't tell her much more than she had learned from the news. Woody and his crew were returning from a flight and heading for an airfield in Northern Iraq. Ground crew said one of the C-130's four turboprop engines had shut down, and the plane suddenly lost altitude as it came into final approach for landing. Woody had been alive when he was flown to Germany, that much Mike knew, but he had no idea of the extent of his injuries.

She left a hurried message with the morgue that she was taking a few more personal days, threw a few things into a bag, and retrieved her passport from the safe deposit box. As long as she was moving, there was no time to think or feel, but at some point during the long flight while the other passengers dozed in the darkened cabin, she was gripped with the raw terror of not knowing whether Woody lived or died.

She managed to find her way from Frankfurt to Landstuhl despite her outdated German road map. Without a military I.D., getting into the hospital gates proved an ordeal, but she had finally been given a temporary visitor's pass after almost an hour of questions from the American MPs. Her hands were shaking as she sat behind the wheel of her rental car in the hospital parking lot. She had no idea what to expect, what condition he would be in.

She was pointed toward his room by a pleasant Army nurse in green fatigues. Her heart raced as his doorway loomed at the end of the hall. She held her breath and rounded the corner.

He was sitting up in bed in a hospital gown with his head turned toward the window. She had mentally rehearsed this moment. If he was awake, she had a witty remark and some light banter ready, but there would be no tears.

Instead, when the moment came, she could only let out a ragged noise from her throat, and her body shuddered with relief. He turned to her then, and he looked at her as if he could not quite believe she stood there.

They came together in a rush, her coat, her keys, her bag falling in a trail to his bedside. They clung to one another for a long moment, his curved fingers pressing into her back, and her body shook against his.

"I'm okay, Jordan. I'm okay," he repeated, as she cried silently. When she pulled away, he dried her tears and framed her face in his hands. "I'm _okay_."

"I was terrified..." She ran her fingers down his unshaven face. He had lost weight since she had seen him last, and there were dark hollows in his cheeks. "What happened? Were you hurt?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine. It's okay, Jordan. I was thrown pretty hard in the crash and hit my head. They just wanted to keep me under observation for a couple of days, but I'm _fine_. Not even a concussion." He gestured over to the copy of _Stars and Stripes_ on his bedside table. "Not everyone was so lucky. The pilot didn't make it."

The newspaper lay open to a brief article about the crash. There was a small photograph in the corner, the kind she had seen in too many obituaries: a stiff, formal portrait of an airman in front of an American flag backdrop.

"Is that him?" she asked quietly. He nodded, and she reached out for the paper.

"Yeah. Capt. Brian Mullen. He lost control of the plane when the one engine shut down. It was a mistake a rookie wouldn't even make," he said with bluntness.

Jordan could feel the sharp tears begin to prick at the back of her eyes, and her hand flew up to her mouth. The dead pilot stared blankly up at her from the photograph, unaware of the fate that awaited him. The last time she had seen him, his eyes had been heavy with sadness as he kissed his four-year-old daughter goodbye with a promise that he would come home soon.

"I remember him," she said through tears. "I was standing right next to him on the flight line the day you left. He had a little girl."

Woody lifted his shoulders. Not quite an indifferent shrug, but something just short. "At least he didn't take anyone else out with him."

Her mouth fell open in surprise. "The man is dead, Woody. How can you be so callous?"

"He was a good man, Jordan, but I wish I could say he was the first good man we've lost in the line of duty. It was pilot error that killed him. Plain and simple. It didn't have to happen." His voice was cold and flat.

She said nothing but stared down at the picture. He reached out for her hand after a moment, but she pulled it away. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It's just how we deal with things."

She nodded and then squeezed his hand with sympathy. She had seen this kind of gallows humor and cold flippancy in morgue workers. It was a defense mechanism against the grim realities of their jobs. She could only imagine what horrors Woody had already seen in Iraq.

"God, I missed you, Jordan. You have no idea." His voice ached with heaviness. "I thought about you all the time. When I woke up, when I went to sleep. You were all I could think about when the plane was going down. I thought I'd never see you again."

"Well, here I am." She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, where he planted a kiss in her open palm.

"This must be Mrs. Hoyt," a female voice came from behind them. Jordan slid from the bed. A woman in a blue Air Force uniform and lab coat stood in the doorway with Woody's medical file.

"No," Jordan started with an embarrassed smile and offered her hand. "Jordan Cavanaugh. I'm...just a friend from Boston."

"All the way from Boston? That's some friend," the doctor said teasingly to Woody. "Dr. Fields. I'm Capt. Hoyt's doctor. Do you mind if I have a minute to examine him?"

Jordan nodded and excused herself to go in search of coffee. It had been 24 hours since she had slept, and the jet lag was about to overtake her. When she re-entered some time later, Woody sat tying his sneakers on the edge of the bed wearing a USAF sweatsuit. "So, what did the doctor say?"

"I'm being discharged. They're sending me home tomorrow."

She crossed and knelt on the bed next to him. "Are you kidding me? Man, that is great news! Okay, do you know what airline you're going home on? Because I can probably change my reservations. It'll cost an arm and a leg, but I've already racked up my credit card, so what's a few more..."

"Jordan! Jordan! Stop!" he interrupted. She blinked, and he looked at her apologetically. "By _home_ I meant back to my unit in Iraq. I'm not going back to Boston."

"But...you almost died. They can't do that!"

"I basically had nothing more serious than a headache. I'm completely fit for duty. I've got a job to do."

She opened her mouth to protest, but she knew that she couldn't change things. She wouldn't spend the last few hours she had with him in a pointless argument.

"Come on, Jordan. I'm going stir crazy in this place. Let's walk."

XXXXXXXX

The weather was as changeable as her mood. The sun shone brightly, but the spring air was still crisp and damp. It was bittersweet, seeing him again, seeing that he was safe and alive, yet knowing he would get on a plane tomorrow, and she would say goodbye to him for what might be the last time.

They were both distracted, and they walked silently along the path that wound through the hospital grounds until it came to a small memorial garden. He took her hand, and they sat on a bench, huddled against the late afternoon chill, looking straight ahead. Finally, he spoke.

"I wasn't sure what it would be like when we finally saw each other again." He gave her a small sideways glance.

"I know." She nodded slowly. "We've never really..._talked_."

"Things happened so quickly between us, and then I had to leave. All we had were cards and letters, and it's hard to say what we really want to say in writing."

"True..." How many times had she stared down at the near-blank note cards, unable to get any further than "Dear Woody"?

"I guess what I mean is...I'm not really sure where we stand."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"I know, but..._what as?" _ He looked over at her, his blue eyes unguarded and questioning._ "_Are you really 'just a friend from Boston?'"

She watched him there with that look of vulnerability. She had seen it before, as they had whispered intimate words into the morning hours of their first night at the Lucy Carver Inn, and the next night, too, as he sat on their bed with a jar of moonshine. She had known as soon as she entered the room that night with her bag full of ridiculous souvenirs what would happen if she sat there next to him on that bed. She had done it anyway, in spite of, or more certainly, because of that knowledge.

She leaned in and trembled, then, with the same anticipation as she had that night. Her lips met his, softly. He reached up and laced his fingers around at the back of her neck to pull her in to him.

Afterwards, she moved her mouth up to his ear, and he shivered. "Does that answer your question, Woody?"

He smiled and gave out a laugh of happy disbelief. "I can't believe you came, Jordan."

She fell back contentedly against the bench. "Well, it wasn't easy, let me tell you. First off, I had to find out about this from the TV."

"I'm sorry. They'll only release that kind of info to the next of kin. That's Cal, and unfortunately, I have no idea where he is right now."

"Then I practically had to sign over my firstborn to get a lousy visitor's pass in here."

"Well, that's because you don't have a military I.D. If you had a military I.D., you could have breezed right in here, no questions asked."

"Yeah, well, somebody tell me how I can get one of those things," she grumbled absently.

He leaned forward and brushed her long, chestnut hair from her shoulder.

"That's easy," he said. "Marry me."


	5. The Answer

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right." She looked back at him. He wasn't smiling, and there was a flicker of hurt in his eyes. "Oh, God, you're serious..."

"I guess I am."

"Well, I don't need a military I.D. _that_ badly." She let out a purposeful laugh, hoping in vain that the subject would die.

"I'm not just talking about the I.D.," He said as if the thought had just occurred to him. "I want to marry you, Jordan."

She let out a stunned breath. "I can't. We...can't."

"Why not?"

She sputtered. "Well, it's too soon, for one."

"We've known each other almost five years. We can finish each other's sentences."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant, Woody."

"My parents got engaged on their second date and were married six weeks later. It can work."

"Yeah, well, this isn't Kewaunee in 1972. It's not a good idea. Think about it. Woody." She was still trying to be playful, to give him the opportunity to admit it had all been a particularly bad joke that they would never speak of again.

"Come on, Jordan. You're like the poster girl for impulsive behavior. You've never thought any major decision through in your life. Why start now?"

She raised her shoulders helplessly. "Because..."

"Because?" he shot back.

"Well..this whole 'military wife' thing. Maybe I'm just a little uncomfortable with it. Can you really picture me doing the whole white-gloves-and-tea-parties thing?"

"Jordan, the military hasn't been like that in forty years. Especially not the Guard. You don't have to pretend to be something you're not. I don't want you to change."

"Well, then there's the bombs and the guns. I mean, I think _ice_ _hockey_ is too violent."

"The one reason you haven't given me is that you don't love me. Look me in the eye and tell me that you don't love me, and I'll take the proposal off the table. We'll never mention it again." He shook his head and gave her a knowing smile. "You can't do it. Can you?"

Her eyes dropped. "No."

"Well, then _why_?"

"Because!"

"Because _why_, Jordan? _Why_?"

"Because!" She looked back up at him but could barely see him through the tears that rimmed her eyes. "Because I don't want to be a widow before I'm a wife, that's why. I don't want our life together to be a series of goodbyes. I don't want to be like Capt. Mullen's wife, wondering how I'm going to tell our little girl that her father's not going to be there for her high school graduation or to walk her down the aisle. I don't want to be left with nothing but an American flag in some dusty display case and the 'thanks of a grateful nation.' _That's_ why!"

She looked at him, breathless, and as stunned as he was that she had said it. She covered her face with her hands. He was silent for a moment, and she could feel him sliding closer to her on the bench.

"Even if I weren't in the military...there are no guarantees in anyone's life." His voice was gentle. "Especially for cops." He slipped a comforting arm around her.

"This is different, and you know it."

He sighed and fell back against the bench. "You're right. I'm sorry." She reached for her things on the seat next to her and rose. "Jordan, where are you going?" he asked with concern.

"I don't know...I need some time."

"I didn't meant to make you..." He reached out for her hand.

"_Please,_ Woody..." He let her go, and she stumbled blindly back down the path into the parking lot. She had forgotten which car was hers, and she turned in frustrated circles jabbing at the keyless remote until she saw the headlights of her rental flash. She slid into the driver's seat and broke down into sobs as she pounded on the steering wheel.

She had left Woody sitting on the bench to think through what had just happened, but she found that the jetlag had robbed her of all cognitive capabilities. After sitting there for some time in a fuzzy-headed daze, she got out of the car and headed back into the hospital. Perhaps there was no thinking about it, anyway.

She wandered numbly through the halls and found herself in front of the chapel. It had been a long time since she had prayed, but she thought she might at least have some solitude here. She pushed the door open and went inside. She almost turned away when she saw the woman sitting on the end of the back pew. She was crying and mouthing the words of a silent prayer. There was something wrapped around her hands that she pressed against her lips, and Jordan thought for a moment that it must be a rosary.

But then she realized it was a set of dog tags, and that if this woman had them, the owner no longer needed them. Jordan backed silently from the room and left the woman to her grief.

She walked purposefully back up to Woody's room. When she entered, he was packing his things into a small duffle bag. He stopped and turned to her, his forehead creased with anxiety.

"The Air National Guard. How long do you plan to stay in?" she said in a rush.

He blinked. "I have six more years to go before I hit twenty. Then I can get my retirement pension when I'm 65."

"What happens if you die?" She fired another question at him. "I want to know what to expect."

"If I die on active duty you get a $200,000 life insurance payout."

"No, I don't mean the money. What happens. How do I find out. Because I never want to have to hear about it from TV again."

He sat on the bed, but she remained standing with her arms akimbo.

"Hanscom will send two casualty officers," he began dispassionately. "They won't call, they'll come in person and give you the news. You won't be left alone for the first 48 hours. The chaplain will be there. Probably the squadron commander's wife, too. She'll coordinate with the other wives, and you'll have more food than you know what to do with."

She nodded like a prosecutor satisfied with her cross-examinatioh. Only then did she let out a small, weary smile, and she sat on the bed next to him.

"Ask me again."

He mirrored her with a nervous smile. "Will you marry me?"

She took a deep breath.

"Yes."


	6. Til Death Us Do Part

Ramstein Air Force Base was nearby, and they made it to the personnel office before 5PM closing to fill out the necessary paperwork. The base chaplain agreed to marry them that evening, and they headed over to the jewelry counter at the Base Exchange to pick out rings, giggling like teenagers all the way.

She found herself a dress to wear among the racks of matronly frocks at the BX. It was a strapless, pale pink number that looked like something a sweet young thing would wear to a spring semi-formal, but it was actually flattering, and she felt fresh and pretty in it.

They managed to slip inside the uniform store next to the food court at the BX before it closed for the day, where Woody was able to rent a set of "Class A's," the familiar blue Air Force uniform, to wear for the ceremony.

She never thought it would be like this if she actually ever did get married. Here she was, changing into her wedding dress in a bathroom stall, and she shook her head at the giddy absurdity of it all. He was waiting for her when she exited the bathroom at the chapel. He had changed into his uniform and was fiddling with his tie and pacing in small circles, every bit the nervous groom.

"Wow..." was all he said when he saw her. "I don't think you could possibly look more beautiful."

"It's amazing what some bobby pins and a 99 cent tube of lipstick can do for a girl," she said self-effacingly, but she found herself blushing the same shade as her dress.

He swallowed hard and offered her his hand. "Ready?"

She nodded and took his hand, and they headed down the aisle to where the chaplain waited for them.

It went so quickly that there was barely time for the words to sink in. She found herself saying, "I will" at the appropriate place, and then they slipped the rings on each other's fingers. There was a kiss, and it was over.

She felt him take her hand in his, and they walked out into the chilly spring air.

"Well. We did it," he said.

"Yeah..." She smiled at him, and he kissed her. She could feel the warmth spread from her core, and she slipped her arms around him.

He had gotten them a room in Visiting Officers' Quarters where they could spend their wedding night, and they made their way across base in her rental car.

He pushed open the door and scooped her into his arms to carry her across the threshold. The room resembled any budget motel lodging and was decorated like everything else on base: sparse, non-descript and functional.

"Not exactly the honeymoon suite," he said apologetically.

"I don't care," she murmured.

He set her down gently, and they faced each other in an awkward silence for a moment as they trembled with the nervous anticipation of new lovers. Her hands shook as she reached across and fumbled with the buttons of his uniform coat. She could see that his hands shook, too, as he reached up and touched her face as if for the first time.

They had made love once, but their bodies were still unfamiliar. Each layer of clothing came off slowly, the unwrapping of a gift. Their mouths met, and they danced without music over to the bed and tumbled there.

They were tentative at first, as their fingers discovered the curves and ridges of the other's body. His lips were softer against her taut belly than she had remembered. She let out a noise of contentment as he slipped gently inside her, and he met her eyes. They moved together silently, the only sound their quickening breath, until she arched her body against his and let out a small cry.

Afterwards, they lay, breathless, facing each other. He moved a strand of damp hair from her cheek and brushed away a lovely tear. His eyes seemed to darken, she had noticed, to a deep, midnight blue after they made love. She kissed him gently and rolled over, a pearl inside the shell of his body.

Later, they lay next to each other, drowsy and content.

"Maybe we should have ironed a few things out first. Like...where we're going to live," he muttered before they drifted off.

"My lease is up next month," she said sleepily.

"And I just signed a new one right before I left."

"So, we'll live in your apartment until you get back, and then we can get a bigger place."

"Mine could use a woman's touch, anyway. Are you keeping your name?"

"I'll be Jordan Cavanaugh professionally, but we can sign the Christmas cards from 'the Hoyts.' How about that?" She yawned lazily and draped herself across him.

"Works for me."

"But if we get a dog, we're not taking a picture of us wearing matching sweaters and sending out photocards saying, 'Merry Christmas from Jordan, Woody, and Rover.'"

"There goes another Hoyt family tradition."

They both laughed, and it was the last thing she remembered before she fell asleep in his arms.

XXXXX

Fifteen hours and twelve minutes. She had counted. It was how long they had been married before they were parted again.

She heard him shower in the morning, and when he re-entered he quietly pulled on his desert flight suit and boots. He thought she was still asleep, and she lay motionless, eyes closed. She wouldn't begin their last day together in tears.

They tried to focus on the sweet of it, rather than the bitter. Her breakfast in bed was a greasy Croissanwich from the on-base Burger King, which, she had learned as her first bit of military trivia, every Air Force base had. He stretched there beside her, boots and all, and after she was finished eating, she curled up next to him listening to the steady sound of his heart.

"It's time," he whispered to her, and she nodded.

They drove out to the flight line to the now-familiar roar of the engines. Their faces were clouded, and there was no false bravado or witty banter. She stood with her arms around him, her head nestled under his chin.

"I'll be home before you know it," he said.

She nodded and futilely dabbed at her tears with her sleeve. "Be safe, okay?"

"Always."

She kissed him, never wanting it to end, but he gently pushed at her elbows and took a step away from her.

"I love you," she said with simplicity.

He nodded, unable to speak, and turned for the plane.

She watched the plane as it disappeared, the way she had done before, and she wondered if he could see her standing there with her hand outstretched toward the sky.

She made it to the airport for her return flight to Boston and sank into her seat, exhausted. She was asleep before takeoff. Midway through the flight, she jolted awake.

_I'm married. To Woody._

She looked down at her left hand. Her wedding ring felt alien on her finger.

_I'm married...I'm married..._

She pulled the window shade down and fell back into a deep sleep.


	7. Back to Boston

_A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed, especially garretelliot! I've gotten so many nice reviews and emails from those who are in military families. I'm glad you like the story, and I just hope it rings true! Let me say that most of the things that have happened to Jordan (or will happen to Jordan!) in this story actually happened to me in some shape or form, so even if it sounds far-fetched, it's pretty autobiographical! Except Jordan has a much better wardrobe._

XXXXXX

She went straight to her apartment and collapsed into bed, where she slept for 13 straight hours. Strange images shot through her brain like fever dreams. She couldn't remember them, but she woke up with a vague sense of uneasiness.

She missed him already. It was an ache at her center. If she shut her eyes, she could still see him there on the flight line and feel the roughness of his fingertips against her skin.

Duty called, and she headed off to work feeling wobbly and disoriented and not altogether sure which time zone she was in. It was strange...the morning felt much the same as every other morning. She rose, showered, drank her coffee in front of the news with the sound muted. She thought of Woody, said what passed for a prayer for him. But the difference was, they were married. Everything was different, yet life plodded on the same as it had before.

She was pouring another much-needed cup of coffee in the break room when Lily breezed in cheerily.

"Good morning, Jordan!" Her cheeks were bright and rosy, and not just from the fresh spring air. She grinned and reached for the coffee pot.

"You're awfully chipper for a Monday morning."

Lily ran to shut the break room door. She dashed back over to Jordan and bounced with excitement. She was positively beaming.

"Don't tell anyone yet, but Jeffrey and I went shopping for an engagement ring this weekend."

"That's great news. I'm happy for you, Lily." Jordan smiled weakly and took a sip of coffee.

Lily went on with animation. "Well, we're not officially engaged yet. It's _way_ too soon. I mean, we've only been dating five months. But I've always _really_ wanted a Christmas Eve wedding, which is funny since Jeffrey is Jewish, but..." She stopped and blushed a little and put her hands on her cheeks. "I'm sorry...I'm rambling, aren't I? So, anyway...what did _you_ do this weekend, Jordan?"

She paused and took another sip of her coffee. "I...got married."

Lily almost choked on her bagel, and her eyes grew wide as saucers. She set her cup down on the counter and gasped for breath. "Does Woody know?"

"I hope so. He was the groom."

"Oh, my God, Jordan! But how did you... He's in Iraq, isn't he?"

"He was injured in a plane crash last week. He's fine, but I flew to the hospital in Germany to see him, and..." She lifted her left hand.

"_Jordan!_" Lily let out a squeal and threw her arms around Jordan. "This is huge! Oh, my _God_!"

"I know, I know. It surprised the hell out of me, too."

"But it's a good thing, right? Right?"

"Yeah, it's a good thing. A completely terrifying thing. But a good thing."

Lily skittered over and re-opened the break room door. "Hey, you guys! Guess who got married this weekend!"

"You know, I was kind of hoping to keep this on the Q.T. for awhile..."

But it was too late, and Nigel and Bug had wandered over in curiosity. Jordan smiled sheepishly and waggled the fingers on her left hand.

"So...who's the lucky guy?" deadpanned Bug.

Lily swatted him on the arm. "_Bug!_ It's Woody! Of _course!_"

Bug and Nigel traded looks of disbelief. "Is this a belated April Fool's joke?"

"_No!" _Lily squealed, and then looked over at Jordan. "It's not, is it?"

"Scout's honor. Woody and I are officially married. Hitched. Husband and wife." The words felt strange, and there was a beat before anyone spoke.

"Well, I think it's fantastic." Nigel kissed her on the cheek. "Congratulations, love."

She smiled and felt herself tear up.

Reactions from her other co-workers were mixed, and there was teasing, most of it good-natured. She ducked into Garret's office to tell him before someone else did, but he hadn't come in yet.

She holed up in her office to avoid the snickers and the same lame jokes about shotgun weddings when Garret came in.

"I heard the good news."

"Garret!" She rose from her desk and crossed to him. "I'm sorry, I really wanted to tell you in person."

"Congratulations, Jordan." He smiled warmly. "It _is_ a little...unexpected."

"I know it's kind of sudden. When Bug found out, he had to ask who the groom was. What does that tell you?"

"Are you happy?"

"Yes. I think. I don't know." She lowered herself onto the sofa and put her head in her hands. "It all happened so quickly, and I kind of got swept along. I just keep wondering if we did the right thing."

He eased himself onto the sofa next to her. "There's an old joke about a couple who've been married for sixty years. After sixty long years, the husband wakes up one morning and decides he wants a divorce. He packs his bag and says to the wife on the way out, 'Sorry things didn't work out between us.'"

"I'm not sure I get it."

"Whether you've got sixty good years or six, I guess the point is to enjoy it and make the time you've got work."

"Wow, that's pessimistic..."

"Is it? I don't mean it to be. Two of the happiest days of my life were the day Abbie was born and the day I married Maggie. The fact that we divorced doesn't change that. We had good years together." He slipped his arm around her, and she leaned her head against him. "Don't start second guessing yourself. If marrying Woody felt like the right thing to do, then it probably was."

She sniffed, and he laughed softly and passed her a tissue. They sat that way for a long while, watching the sun begin to sink in the sky.

XXXXXX

She went to Woody's apartment, _their_ apartment, after work and pushed the door open with trepidation. She'd been living in her old place for years, and she wasn't sure anywhere else could feel like home. She liked her apartment, the airiness of it, with its open space and glass-brick walls. This was _Woody's_ place: all dark wood and chrome and overstuffed bachelor furniture.

She moved her things over gradually, a box or a chair at a time. It took almost a month, but by the time her lease expired in June, her place was empty, and Woody's apartment had begun to feel a little bit more like home.

Some of Woody's furniture looked as if it had been salvaged from a frat house dumpster. She was able to store some of it in basement storage, and other things went straight to Goodwill. His robots seemed out of place all of a sudden, so she carefully boxed them and stacked them in the closet.

She kept his clothes in his side of the closet. They still smelled of him. She missed him, and being married to him added a poignancy to that ache. But it was hard to _feel_ married with him on the other side of the globe. She felt more like a hired designer who had been given a key to redecorate.

She experimented with colors on the bland whiteness of the place. The wall behind the bed went from mauve to lavender to sage green over the course of a weekend. She put up her posters in the living room and set out some of the funky art pieces she'd collected over the years.

Yes, it was home, and she thought Woody would be pleased with the inviting warmth she'd created.

She had everyone over for a housewarming party that weekend. Woody had been gone exactly six months and had six more months to go in Iraq. She wanted to commiserate and celebrate and be among friends.

She loved them. They had been her lifeline since she had returned to Boston, now more than ever with reports of the mounting casualties in Iraq filling the news. She heard from Woody occasionally, an email here or there, a short note, but not nearly enough for comfort.

The gathering had turned into a belated bridal shower, and she had just unwrapped a particularly hideous bowl from Bug and _The Newlywed's Guide to Tantric Sex_, a gift from Lily.

Garret passed her another box with a tell-tale shape. She pulled out a bottle of champagne that she knew sold for more than $350.

"_Garret!_ This is Dom Perignon 1995!"

"It's for when Woody gets back," he said simply.

She blinked back tears. "Thank you, Garret. Thanks. All of you."

"And this is for right now." Garret pulled out a decidedly less expensive bottle of bubbly and passed it to Nigel for opening. "And this is for the newly sober," he grumbled as he popped open a bottle of ginger ale.

Jordan laughed and held out her glass. "No one should have to drink ginger ale alone, Garret. Fill 'er up."

"What shall we toast to?" asked Nigel.

Garret raised his glass. "To absent friends."

"Hear, hear," they said in unison, and their glasses clinked in the solemn silence that followed.

They streamed out close to midnight. Nigel was the last to go, as designated driver for a slightly tipsy Bug.

After she saw them out, she took a deep breath and crossed into the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror and steadied herself against the sink.

_The moment of truth_, she thought to herself grimly. She took another deep breath, closed her eyes and opened the medicine chest.

Her heart raced, and she swallowed hard to fight the sick feeling. She pried her eyes open one at a time and reached up for the contents of the little dixie cup she'd set on the shelf earlier.

_Pink. Positive. _

She held the stick in her hand and blinked hard. Perhaps she hadn't seen it right.

_Pink. Positive. _

"Oh, God..."

This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. Not now.

She slumped to the floor with the stick still clutched in her hand and willed it to turn some other shade.

"God, no..."

She sobbed, curled into a ball on the bathroom floor, until she could cry no more.


	8. The Appointment

The A/C vent above her blasted cold on her bare skin, and she shivered in her paper-thin hospital gown.

"Have you been getting enough folic acid?" The obstetrician switched on the sonogram machine and dropped a dollop of cold gel on Jordan's belly. Jordan stared up and counted dots on the ceiling tile.

"Probably not." She looked down as the doctor arched her eyebrow. "I know, I know, but I really wasn't planning on getting pregnant."

"All women of childbearing years should be taking a multi-vitamin with folic acid for that very reason," the doctor chided. "It's drastically reduced the number of spina bifida cases we see each year."

She sighed and made a mental note of yet another of the many wrong things she'd already done in this pregnancy, _getting_ pregnant, being the first.

She had taken the Pill to keep her cycles regular as much as anything else, but in the wake of her breakup with Pollack and then Woody's departure, she had gotten careless. She had left her pillcase on the bathroom sink when she flew to Germany and had missed two days. She'd blithely thought that two days would never make a difference. As a doctor, she should have known better.

Woody had called her the day after she found out.

"I've got something I need to tell you..." He had barely gotten "hello" out before she blurted it in a rush.

"Okay..." he said warily.

"I'm pregnant."

There was a pause where all she could hear was his breathing. "I thought you were on the pill." His voice was flat. This wasn't the reaction she had expected, but she wasn't really sure what she wanted him to say or how she wanted him to feel.

"I...missed a couple of days when we were in Germany."

"Wow. This is..." She heard him exhale heavily. "This is...kind of a shock, Jordan." She bit her lip and said nothing. "Do you have a due date yet?"

"February 3rd."

He paused, and she knew he was doing mental calculations. "This is good. This is good. I'll be home by then."

"Good?"

"Yeah, this is great!" He laughed nervously. "Wow. We're having a baby. We're having a _baby_."

"You're not mad?"

"How could I be mad? We're having a baby!"

He laughed and whooped and she blinked back relieved tears.

"I'll be home in time, Jordan. I promise," he said before hanging up. "_Promise_."

Woody's elation had done nothing to shake her own misgivings. Her mother's mental illness had left her ambivalent about having children. Even without those fears weighing on her, this pregnancy could not have come at a worse time. The father would spend the long months until the birth in a war zone on the other side of the globe.

She loved Woody, she was sure of it, but there were times when he still felt like a stranger. When they were in Germany, getting married had seemed like the right and natural thing to do. Here in Boston, doubts gnawed at her. And now they were having a child.

She hadn't told anyone at work yet, but she was fifteen weeks along already, and they were bound to wonder about the soda crackers she nibbled throughout the day and her sudden preference for elastic-waisted jeans. It just didn't seem like the right time. Not yet. Not when she wasn't sure how she felt about it herself.

"Ready for baby's big debut?"

Her heart fluttered, and she propped herself on her elbows as she watched the grainy black and white images on the sonogram screen. And there it was. Unmistakable. A foot, a leg, a tiny beating heart.

Somehow her doubts seemed to evaporate. There it was. Their baby, who had come into being when her heart ached with love for her new husband. It was as if a weight had been taken from her shoulders in that instant.

She smiled and ignored the fat tear that ran down her cheek. She was about to ask the doctor if she could tell the sex of the baby, but the OB's brows were knit as she rolled the wand over Jordan's belly.

"Is there something wrong?"

The OB knew Jordan was a doctor, and there was no point hiding it. She pointed to a small white patch on the screen. "The baby has a small choroid plexus cyst. Right there."

_Choroid plexus cyst_. Jordan reached into the far corners of her mind back to her days as an intern.

"But, those are harmless, aren't they? It's just a normal variation in brain development." She tried to suppress any growing feelings of panic.

"Yes," the doctor started with caution. "But the condition has been associated with Trisomy 18."

Jordan's heart stopped. Trisomy 18. Severe mental retardation and physical defects. If a baby with Trisomy 18 actually survived the birth, it usually couldn't live more than a few weeks.

The doctor went on in reassuring tones about statistics and odds that the baby was fine, but Jordan only half heard it. She felt as if the floor had opened up beneath her and the walls were closing in.

"I can get you in at Genetic Testing for an amnio today, if you'd like," the OB said in a soothing voice.

Jordan fought against the hard knot in the base of her throat. "Yes..." she croaked.

The doctor squeezed her wrist. "The odds are overwhelming that everything is fine, Jordan."

And so she somehow made it across the hospital to Genetic Testing and waited for her turn to be called. She sat alone trying to distract herself with a magazine while everyone else in the waiting room sat in pairs.

Her name was called, and she was dressed in another flimsy hospital gown while the geneticist swabbed her belly and prepared the needle.

"Would you like me to call your husband in from the waiting room?" he asked.

She frowned. "He's not here. He's...deployed to Iraq." The doctor nodded with sympathy. "How long will I have to wait for results?"

"About three weeks." The doctor smiled weakly. "You know, the odds are overwhelming that everything is just fine."

"So people keep telling me." She felt the sting of the needle. "I don't know. Maybe it's a good thing my husband _doesn't_ know about this."

The doctor sighed. "It's hard to know what to tell them when they're so far away. I'm an Army brat, and my father was always off in some hot spot. When my brother was 10, his appendix burst. My mother went to the squadron commander and asked if she could patch an emergency call through to my dad. The colonel refused and said, 'Don't tell him anything that might be the reason he doesn't come home.'"

XXXXXXX

She tossed her purse and her keys on the floor and curled up in the chair with tears running down her face in sheets. She sat that way in the dark with her knees to her chest and almost ignored the phone when it cut through the silence. Finally, she hastily dried her tears and picked it up.

"Jordan! Can you hear me?" She heard his voice through the static, and she forced a smile.

"Yes! Woody! I can hear you!"

"I know you had an appointment today. How did it go?"

"...Fine."

"What's that? I can barely hear you, Jordan. This connection..."

"I said _fine!_"

"Ah, that's great news." She could hear the relief in his voice. "I was worried. I've been going crazy all day."

"Everything is fine. Really." She covered her eyes with her free hand and took a deep breath. "Don't worry about us. You just concentrate on coming home safe."

"Look, we're about to take off here. I just wanted to check on you and the baby. I love you, Jordan."

The phone slipped from her hand. She sat for a moment taking steadying breaths and then rose for the bathroom. She took a long shower to wash the layers of ultrasound gel and antiseptic wash from her. Her fingers traced the soft, new curve of her belly.

"You're going to be okay," she whispered.

She closed her eyes and began the long countdown to three weeks.


	9. Things Are Looking Up

_A/N: Woohoo! 100+ reviews! I've never broken 100 reviews before, so thank you very much! I'm glad you're enjoying it. I think it's time for Jordan to get some good news, too, don't you think? Here's just a short, transitional chapter._

XXXXXXXX

It was two weeks and four days.

The phone rang early on a Friday evening.

"Jordan, it's Dr. Elliot. They just sent over the results of your amnio, and I didn't want to leave you waiting over the weekend."

"Yes, of course..." she muttered and could feel her heart begin to beat in her chest.

"Good news, Jordan. No chromosomal abnormalities."

It was as if the dam that had held for two weeks and four days had finally burst. Her knees gave out from under her, and she had to steady herself against the back of the sofa.

She had forced herself to eat for the baby's sake these last weeks, but sleep was beyond her control. She lay awake most nights, completely isolated in her terror, with her worst thoughts crashing through her brain until night gave way to morning.

Woody had not been able to call lately, and she was glad. Lying to him again would take more strength than she thought she had right now. But it was over, and she felt as if the sun had come out after a long winter.

She went out the next day and bought the cutest, sassiest, most bump-hugging maternity dress she could find, painted her toenails crimson, slipped on a pair of thongs and enjoyed the gorgeous Boston summer weekend.

The elevator doors parted that Monday morning. Office decorum be damned, she wore a lacy tank top with just a hint of her round belly peeking out from underneath as she stepped out into the lobby

Bug was signing for a package in the lobby and did a double take as she passed through.

"Morning, Bug," she said breezily and heads turned as she strutted down the hall. Garret and Lily were in his office going over a file, and she stopped in the doorway.

"Notice anything different about me? And I'll give you a hint. It's not a new haircut."

They were speechless for a moment before Lily jumped from her chair with a excited shriek. "I was wondering why you were wearing so many baggy sweatshirts in the middle of a heatwave!"

Lily went off to spread the news, and Jordan sat in her empty chair. "I have a favor to ask you, Garret. Woody is supposed to be back in time for the birth, but I'm taking a childbirth class, and I need a backup labor coach..."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Oh, come on, Garret! It'll be fun!"

"What is it about a room full of panting pregnant women that strikes you as fun?"

"Garret..."

"Wouldn't you rather have Lily or Nigel or anyone else for that matter?"

She sighed and looked away. "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have, Garret. Except Woody. And he's on the other side of the globe fighting a war, and he has been for every day of this pregnancy so far. So, if you don't mind, I'd really like to have _you_ there."

He waited a beat and smiled warmly. "Okay, Jordan. But I'm not wearing one of those 'sympathy' bellies. Not even for you."

The days wore on. Her childbirth class was going well, and she enjoyed spending the time with Garret. Things had sometimes been difficult between them since he had been forced to resign the previous year, and the class was a chance to repair their fractured relationship.

Lily and Jeffrey had gotten engaged and were busy planning their December wedding. Bug had joined an Indian Singles Club, and his broken heart was mending quite nicely in the company of a beautiful pediatrician.

Soon, an autumn crispness was in the air. She got the occasional letter or phone call from Woody saying the Air Force was keeping him busy, and he missed her terribly. She missed him, too, but she was beginning to adjust to life in her new home without him.

She looked forward to Lily's wedding; it would be one of the last opportunities to spend time with her morgue family before Woody returned and the baby arrived. The ceremony seemed an interesting blend of equal parts Judaism, Christianity, and Buddhism. Jordan had never been to a wedding where the couple was married under a chuppah while the _Ave Maria_ played softly in the background, but that was Lily.

The reception was just as eclectic, with Big Band music and a dim sum buffet. At eight months pregnant, Jordan sat the dancing out and sipped a virgin colada with her shoes off and feet up.

She was marking the time until Woody's return in days, rather than weeks or months. It had dragged along so slowly for so long, and now the days seemed to hurtle past.

She had gone out on maternity leave just after the new year. She could barely get close enough to the table anymore to do an autopsy. It was just as well. A cold New England winter had settled in, and she was content to cocoon in their apartment and watch the snow fall.

And then in mid-January, the call came. She cursed herself for not putting the cordless phone beside her chair and waddled across the floor to answer it.

"Jordan! It's Woody! Look, I don't have a lot of time. I've got about five minutes to get across base. They're putting me on a plane. I'm coming home."


	10. Homecoming

_A/N: Homecoming from a deployment can be a living nightmare, but never fear. Jordan and Woody will have a happy ending. Just not right away..._

XXXXXXX

She recognized some of the faces on the flight line from the previous January. The children were a year older, clutching their handmade "Welcome Home" signs. Infants who weren't walking before toddled along waving little American flags, oblivious to the turmoil their parents had been through for the past twelve months.

They were coming home, back to civilian life, and Jordan recognized the look of weary relief in their faces. But there was something else: a hint of worry in their eyes. _So...what happens now? _

It was a feeling she had just begun to understand. The minute she had hung up with Woody the day before, she had cried a short shower of jubilant tears. Then, it was as if she found a source of untapped energy in her exhausted body.

She braved the January cold and went for a mini-makeover: new haircut, pedicure, manicure. She stocked up on Woody's favorite beer, straightened and vacuumed. She had told Garret she would call him when she knew something about Woody's arrival, so she picked up the phone and began to dial.

It was only then that she felt a cold tide of anxiety, and she quickly set the phone back on the hook.

They had been married for almost nine months but had spent all but 15 hours of that time apart. She couldn't be sure of his feelings for her after all that time. And her own feelings? What of them? Perhaps what they had together only existed in the private little world they had created in Germany. In her fear and worry, had she merely gotten swept up in a romance too fragile to survive here in Boston?

"When's the baby due?" Jordan turned to where two middle-aged women stood chatting next to her.

"Any day now."

"They've been deployed for a year. How is it that you're nine months pregnant?" the first woman asked.

"We got married in Germany in May. It's a long story."

"Looks like Daddy's coming home just in time."

"Yeah. I'm just looking forward to things getting back to normal."

"Did you hear that?" The woman turned to her friend with a heavy voice. "She says she's looking forward to things getting back to normal."

"Honey, you're going to have to wait a loooong time for that." Her friend shook her head knowingly. "Sometimes, they _never_ get back to normal."

Jordan opened her mouth to speak, to protest the ominous warning, but she was interrupted by the distant noise of the approaching C-130. There was a burst of spontaneous applause, and tears flowed freely as the plane soared overhead and glided to a gentle landing.

Her heart pounded as the door opened and the men and women stepped out onto the tarmac. She couldn't see him; she craned her neck over the crowd. What if he'd missed the flight? What if something had happened?

And then he lowered himself from the plane with his bag slung over his shoulder. She called out to him, and he searched the crowd for her. His tired face lit up when he saw her, and he sprinted across the tarmac to her and gathered her in his arms.

"I missed you. God, I missed you so much." He held her out at arm's length and ran a hand down her belly. "You're a sight for sore eyes. _Both_ of you!"

She kissed him and couldn't speak for the tears. "I missed you, too," she managed in a rough whisper.

She had missed his touch. They rode home, some part of their bodies always in contact. Intertwined fingers, a hand on her soft cheek. He talked about his miserable plane ride home, and she tried to catch him up on her latest doctor's appointment

He hadn't changed, not much, anyway. He was thinner, his face leaner, and there were perhaps the beginning of some crow's feet around his blue eyes. He seemed quieter than before, but she attributed it to jet lag and general exhaustion. No, he was still Woody. He loved her, and her heart overflowed with love for him.

She pushed open the door of their apartment with a flourish. "Ta da!"

"You've made some changes," he said flatly.

"Well, you said you thought it needed a woman's touch. I've got kind of this whole fung shui thing going on. What do you think?"

He nodded non-commitally. "I don't want to talk about furniture or fung shui. I just want to wash off a thousand miles of

C-130 dirt and grime and then hold you for the next ten years." He brushed her hair away and kissed the place where her long neck curved into her shoulder.

"I'll be waiting for you," she purred, and he headed off to the bathroom.

She changed into a nightgown while he showered. She had found a maternity store she loved that looked as if the clothes had been designed especially for her: sleek, sexy, and a little funky with none of the matronly frills and bows on all of the other maternity clothes she had seen. She had bought the nightgown there and had saved it for Woody's homecoming.

She splashed on some of the perfume she knew he liked, and she was curled up on the bed as seductively as she could manage at 39 weeks pregnant when he came out of the shower.

He swallowed hard when he saw her there. "I didn't think you could be any more beautiful than the day we got married. I was wrong." He eased himself gently beside her. "Are you sure we're not going to hurt the baby or anything?"

She let out an airy laugh and kissed him. "The doctor said it was fine, Woody."

Their reunion was tender and passionate and wonderfully, lovingly comical. She laughed and cried by turns until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

She left him there in the morning sleeping as she dressed for court. He stirred as she left the bedroom.

"Hey...what's going on?" he asked sleepily, propping himself up on one elbow.

"I didn't mean to wake you." She sat down next to him on the bed and stroked his rough cheek. "I've got to testify in a murder trial. It's my last official duty as an M.E. for awhile. I really want to nail this creep to the wall."

"Yeah, you just want to show everyone how sexy a pregnant woman can be in that red suit." He grinned.

She rolled her eyes. "I feel like a beached whale. How sexy can I possibly be?"

"Didn't last night answer that question?" He pulled her down to him for a long kiss.

"I've got to go..." she whispered reluctantly in his ear. "Get some sleep. I'll be back as soon as I can."

She headed off to court feeling as light as air for the first time in months. The women at the base were wrong. He was home safe and sound. They were blissfully in love, and they awaited the birth of a healthy child. His homecoming had been absolutely perfect. How could she have ever doubted it?

The hours dragged on. She was the last witness of the day, and it was after dinner before she arrived home, carrying a bag of Chinese takeout. She excitedly fumbled to open the door to the apartment and tossed the takeout on the table by the door. It fell with a sloshing thump to the floor. She blinked. The table was gone. Her mouth fell open in shock as she looked around the room.

He had moved everything. Her posters were gone from the walls. He had rearranged the furniture and even brought up some of his wretched bachelor pieces from basement storage.

He came in from the bedroom with a cheerful smile. "Oh, hey, Jordan."

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"What? I just moved some things."

"But where's all my stuff? My posters? My lamp?"

"Oh." He shrugged. "I put them in the closet with my robots. It just wasn't working for me. I paid the super to help me bring some of this old furniture up and move some of this stuff around."

"Move some of this stuff?" She staggered inside and turned a circle. "You've undone _everything_ I did!"

"I thought the TV would be better over here. I didn't like it in the corner. It's too far away from the kitchen."

"Is it going to kill you to walk the few extra feet to get a beer?"

He shook his head. "The traffic flow was all wrong."

"Traffic flow? It's an apartment, not Logan Airport, Woody! Do you have any idea how hard I worked on this?"

He put his hands on his hips. He had been working to maintain an even strain, she knew, but his facade was cracking. "I didn't ask you to do all this, Jordan! All I wanted you to do was...I don't know...put some plants around or hang some curtains. Not all _this_. Posters? Purple paint? That's not me! That's not what I wanted!"

"I'm your wife, not your personal interior designer. You didn't even _try_ to get used to it! And I'm sorry, Woody, but you were indisposed at the time, and I had to make some decisions on my own." she said with bite.

"Don't give me that, Jordan. You just did whatever you felt like doing. As usual. You just totally got rid of all my stuff. I mean, come on! This is _my_ apartment!" He glowered at her in the silence that followed.

"Funny," she said quietly. "I was under the impression that this was _our_ apartment."

He looked away. "Jordan, that's not what I meant," he said, but there was still anger in his voice.

There was another long silence. His face burned red. She eased herself onto the sofa and waited for him to speak. He didn't but remained rooted to his spot in the bedroom doorway.

Finally, she looked over at him. "I think you should call my doctor. Her number is on the refrigerator."

"Why? What's wrong?"

She sighed. "My water just broke."


	11. Another Homecoming

The fight was quickly forgotten as he drove her to the hospital whispering tender and soothing words.

Woody was wonderful, holding her hand and wiping her forehead when the contractions came in waves that sliced through her. It was hard to believe that they had argued so bitterly. It was just his jet lag and her hormones, she told herself. The decor of their apartment wasn't important. What mattered was that he was safe and sound.

it was after midnight when Dr. Elliot arrived to exam her. "Are you ready to push?" she asked with a smile.

Jordan turned her eyes to Woody, who had gone slightly green but was squeezing her hand reassuringly. "You're gonna do great, Jordan."

At 3:16AM, she gave a final push, and their child slipped noisily into the world. "It's a boy!" the doctor shouted over the baby's fierce protests.

Jordan cried with joy and relief as Woody beamed down at her with pride. "You did it. It's a boy..." His eyes had welled with tears, and he kissed her on her damp forehead. "We have a son."

The doctor placed the baby on her chest, and he seemed to quiet instantly. "Hello, beautiful..." she whispered and ran a finger over his fine, black curls.

"Do you want to cut the cord?" the doctor asked. Woody flushed that same shade of green again, and his hands shook as she passed him the scissors.

They whisked him away for measuring and weighing, and Woody brushed away the wet strands of hair the stuck to her cheeks. "We never had time to talk about names."

"We're not doing the presidential thing..."

"Really? I thought Warren G. Harding Hoyt or William Clinton Hoyt," he teased.

"I like William. William Cavanaugh Hoyt."

He smiled. "William Cavanaugh Hoyt. It's perfect. Like him."

Everything was perfect. The baby, the name, the two of them. Any fears had evaporated as they glowed with happiness.

She went home the next day, tired, exhausted, and suddenly overwhelmed. The baby who had slept and nursed so well in the hospital became colicky. His bassinet filled up most of the remaining space in the bedroom. The apartment had been barely enough room for Woody alone, and now the three of them seemed to be tripping over each other.

She hadn't showered in days, and her hair and everything she wore smelled of baby spit-up and sour milk. They hadn't traded more than a few words to each other since Will had come home. More than once Woody's side of the bed would be empty when she woke up in the middle of the night to feed the baby, and she would find him in the living room, staring blankly at the TV set.

She was pacing the floor with Will early one morning, trying to get him to settle after a difficult night when Woody came in from the bedroom, attaching his police badge to his belt.

"Where are you going?" she asked, although she knew the answer.

"Work."

"But you're not supposed to go back until next week."

He shrugged. "I'm not doing you any good here, Jordan. I can't nurse him. I can't get him to quiet down the way you can."

"But..." she started. He cut her off.

"I can't deal with..._this_ right now. It's making me crazy." He swept his arm across the room at the mound of dirty baby laundry and the sack of soiled diapers by the door. "I've just got to get back to work, okay? I'll...see you later tonight."

She continued to stare in mild shock at the closed door long after he had left, jiggling Will in her arms.

He seemed in a better mood when he got home. Perhaps returning to work was the best thing for him, for both of them. He had picked up the roll of film from the drugstore, as she had asked him to, and they sat together on the sofa passing back and forth pictures from Will's birth.

"What's this one?" he asked and passed her a photo of herself and Garret. Nigel had taken it of the two of them as they saluted the camera with their virgin coladas.

"Oh, that's from Lily's wedding."

"Lily's wedding?"

"Yeah. Back in December. Man, did my feet hurt that day." She laughed at the memory of it.

"Lily got _married_?"

"Yeah..." She looked up at him. Hadn't she written him?

He leaned forward, and then dropped the stack of photos he had been holding with a smack against the table. "Were you ever going to tell me about it?"

"I did. Didn't I? I thought I did." She frowned. It seemed a small detail.

"No, you didn't. I'm off in Iraq, away from my friends and family, and you don't think I might want to know something like that?"

"Woody, it's not that big a deal." She shook her head at the surreal absurdity of it. He was actually angry over her neglecting to tell her about a wedding the month before.

"Don't I get to decide what's a big deal anymore?"

She looked at him there, sitting across from her on the sofa. His ears were flushed crimson, the way they always did when he got angry. Something welled up from inside her: her own frustrations, her exhaustion, and months and months of resentment that she hadn't known existed. "Well, I'm _sorry_ if I neglected to tell you about Lily's wedding. It got a little hard for me to remember what I was and wasn't supposed to tell you!"

"What does that mean? What else haven't you told me?" She looked away from him as her chin began to quiver. "Jordan! What is it?"

"They thought there might be a problem with Will. We might have lost him," she spat. "I had to wait three weeks for the test results, Woody. _Three weeks_. By. Myself. While you were going on in blissful ignorance. I was in _agony_. So, don't talk to me about Lily's wedding, because I really don't want to hear it."

He leapt up from the sofa and paced the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists. "I had a right to know that, Jordan. I had a right to know. He's my son, too."

"I didn't want to upset you. I didn't want to burden you with something that might distract you. You told me all it takes is one tiny mistake on that plane, and you could be responsible for the death of your crew. I couldn't do that to you."

He stood in front of her, arms folded angrily across his chest. "I had a right to know."

She said nothing. The silence was awful, and then Will began to fuss in his bassinet. She ran into the bedroom for him and when she returned, Woody was gone.

When he returned hours later, Will had finally settled again, and Jordan pretended to sleep. He came in the bedroom, and she could hear him moving around the room. Finally, he sighed and then came the familiar noise of the TV set in the living room. She cried silently until exhaustion overtook her.

XXXXXX

She told herself, as the arguments grew more frequent, that each one would be the last. They would get through it. It was the baby blues or a newlyweds' rough patch. Although, she knew that could never explain the dreams that caused him to wake up with a wrenching cry each night. That could never explain the black anger that gripped him at the least deviation in his daily routine.

_It'll pass. It will pass_, she told herself. But as the days and weeks went by, she feared that it wouldn't. Had the women at the base been right after all? Perhaps things would never get back to normal.

They had been relying on well-meaning friends to bring them food in the early days when Will first came home, but that sort of neighborliness always wears off long before the need of it does.

They had begun to frequent their local takeout places, and they sat in silence at the table eating Chinese for the third time that week. Jordan tried to shovel food in her mouth with one hand while balancing Will in the crook of her other arm.

Woody grabbed at his utensils and yanked his carton from the bag. As usual, every gesture was sharp and noisy. He raked some of the food out onto a plate, and then she heard the sound of his fork dropping onto the china.

She looked up. He had pushed himself back from the table. "What's wrong?"

"Mushrooms. I told them no mushrooms."

She looked over at his plate to the small pile of shiitake mushrooms. "Oh. Well, can't you just rake them off?"

"That's not the point. We're paying enough for this junk. I asked them for no mushrooms, they should do what I ask them to do. One little request. It's not that hard."

She tried to ignore him. It was one of his increasingly common rants about the least little thing. She knew it was best to lower her head and let him wear himself out. But perhaps it had finally gotten too much. She picked at her food and took a deep breath.

"Just. Take. Them. Out," she said slowly, her voice beginning to rise. "They're just mushrooms. All right? Take the damn things out. Can't we have a meal in peace? For once?" She lowered her head back down to her plate. She could feel his eyes on her.

He rose, and his chair fell with a clatter to the floor. He took his plate and stomped into the kitchen and dropped it into the trashcan. "There. They're out."

She swiveled in her chair to face him. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"There is NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!" He stormed back over to her with a force that frightened her. "Do you understand? There is nothing wrong with me. I just want my life back, okay? I want to joke around with the guys at work and have it be like it was. I want a house that doesn't smell like a diaper pail when I come in the door. I want a wife who takes a shower at least once a day. I want a kid who isn't screaming morning noon and night so it's all I hear. When I'm awake. When I'm asleep. All I hear is the screaming."

He clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. She was frozen in fear for him, and then she reached over to touch his arm when he let out a guttural cry. His arm swept down across the table. She ducked, and his half-empty carton of food sailed over her head and splattered on the wall behind her.

They watched each other for a moment in horror. Will stirred in her arms and began to fret. "Oh, God, Jordan. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

She was calm when she finally spoke and blinked back her tears. "I think you should leave."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess I need to cool off. Go for a walk or something."

"No." She shook her head. "You need to _leave_."

His arms dropped to his side in disbelief. "Are you throwing me out?"

"You need help. _We_ need help. This isn't you."

"I'm _fine_, Jordan."

"You're not fine. You're so _angry. _It scares me, Woody."

He held up his hands in protest. "I would never hurt you or Will."

"I know you wouldn't mean to." She looked over at the brown streaks of food that ran down the wall. "But I don't want Will living like this."

He stood with a clenched jaw, and then finally nodded. He turned slowly and drew a suitcase from under the bed, and she watched while he dropped a few changes of clothes in it.

He came out and stood in front of her for a long moment. "One of the guys at the guard is still deployed. I can probably stay at his place for awhile. You can call me at work or on my cell if you need me."

He kneeled down and brushed at Will's soft cheek before he walked out the door of their apartment.

Will was fully awake now and arched his back with a yell. She rocked him and held him to her while she cried and whispered gentle words through her tears.


	12. Hope Springs Eternal

After much good-natured pestering from her co-workers, Jordan had finally agreed to stop by the office to introduce Will. The morning after Woody left, she had thought to call and cancel. It hardly seemed the time to project a picture of blissful domesticity. But she resolved to go ahead with it, and the thought of being surrounded by her friends bolstered her.

She smiled through it all, as she walked through the halls carrying Will in his little carseat, and they admired his cupid's bow mouth and long fingers. Of course, she heard how much he looked like Woody with his blue eyes and dark hair, and she winced whenever his name was spoken.

Still, she enjoyed the visit and stayed longer than she meant to. Will began to fuss with hunger, sending the familiar tingling ache into her breasts. She frantically looked for a place to nurse and found to her dismay that her office had been turned into a temporary storage closet.

She could feel the unpleasant wetness seeping through her shirt as she ducked into Lily's empty office and lowered herself with relief onto the small sofa there. She laid her head back as Will nuzzled in with a little noise of contentment.

Lily breezed in then and crossed to her desk for a file. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jordan! I didn't see you there!" She smiled serenely and held the file against her in an unconscious mirror of Jordan's pose. "Look at that. So beautiful. I can't wait." Jordan looked up at her curiously. "No, I'm not pregnant! Jeffrey and I are talking about it, but we're going to wait a little bit."

_That's what _I _thought_, Jordan thought to herself ruefully but said nothing.

Lily crossed and perched on the edge of her desk. "How's Woody taking to fatherhood?"

She chewed on her lip. It was a subject she had meant to avoid. She was even prepared to lie that everything was fine, but she found in the moment that she couldn't.

"Woody and I..." She wasn't sure how to phrase it. Broke up? Separated? That seemed too permanent for a situation that she hoped would be as temporary as the clutter in her old office. "Woody and I are spending some time apart."

Lily's hand flew up to her chest. "Oh, God, Jordan! I'm so sorry! What happened?"

She shook her head slowly and looked over Lily's shoulder out the window. "I don't know. He's different."

Lily watched her for a moment with a creased forehead. "He's been through so much, Jordan."

"So have _I,_" she said sharply, and then lowered her eyes. "I know he has. I know."

"You're newlyweds. You just had a newborn. Those things can test any couple. But add to the mix the fact that Woody just got back from Iraq?" Lily shook her head. "I can't imagine how hard it's been for you. For both of you."

"I just keep wondering..." She hadn't wanted to voice it out loud. It had been too awful to think about. "I keep wondering if we made a mistake. Getting married. I mean, God, what were we _thinking_? We've never so much as been out on a date. One roll in the hay, and suddenly we're married." She looked up, ashamed. Their night at the Lucy Carver Inn had been precious and private. She had never meant to speak of it at all, let alone to dismiss it the way she had, but Lily only looked at her with sympathetic understanding.

"I've been reading about this lately in the literature." Lily gestured to a stack of magazines and professional journals on the corner of her desk. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in vets coming back from the desert. It affects the people they've left behind, too. The spouses, the families."

She rose and sat cautiously next to Jordan.

"I know it may seem hard to believe, but he's still the same Woody. It takes time, Jordan." Lily put a comforting hand on her forearm. "Time, patience, and understanding. Don't give up on him."

Contentedly full, Will was now watching Lily with wide eyes. "Hello, handsome," Lily cooed and tickled the bottom of his foot. He chortled and smiled a toothless grin, and it seemed to Jordan that there was all the hope in the world in that smile.

XXXXXX

The apartment that had seemed hardly room enough for one now felt unbearably empty without him. There was a part of her that hoped he would be there when she returned from the morgue and they could go on as if nothing had happened. The better part of her knew that he wouldn't be, he _couldn't_ be if they were to survive.

For a year, she had dreamed of him, worried over him. She had imagined their reunion thousands of times in her mind. She had replayed their night together at the inn and in Germany, seeing them there, breathing as one as his cool, smooth chest moved over her. Reality had not been able to hold a mirror to the fragile fantasy that she had created, and it had crumbled over arguments of mushrooms and the price of gas and unmade beds.

He came by the next day to retrieve a few items he had left behind. It was awkward, as she had expected it would be, and when he thought she wasn't looking, she saw his eyes cut over to the space on the wall that she had scrubbed so hard to rid it of its ugly brown stains.

He sat on the sofa holding Will in his arms. "Do you want some dinner? I was just going to through some spaghetti on?" She cringed. It was absurd, inviting her husband to stay for dinner in his own home.

"I...don't think so, Jordan. I pulled the late shift this week. I should go." He kissed Will on the forehead and passed him gently to his mother.

"Oh. Well. Some other time." She followed him as he headed to the door.

He said nothing at first, but then turned with his hand on the doorknob. "I'd like that." He looked down, and when he spoke, she had to strain to hear him. "I want to see you and Will."

"I'd like that, too." She held back her tears.

And so it was a scene that replayed itself a few times a week as the winter thawed into a damp spring. He would come over for dinner after work and then give Will his bath before bedtime. He and Jordan would then chat about some interesting case at work, and then he would glance at his watch and head for the door. There would always be a moment, a brief, shared look of longing, and then he would be gone.

He never spoke of what had happened between them, and she never asked if he was getting help. But she knew from the dark circles under his eyes from the nightmares that robbed him of sleep that he was not. So, the continued on in limbo.

Will had just gone down on one of these evenings. Jordan had settled into one corner of the sofa, as she usually did, when Woody retrieved a brown paper sack from the gym bag he had brought in.

"What's that?" she asked warily.

"I pinned on major below the zone." He pulled a bottle of wine from the sack and held it up.

"Sounds painful. Translation, please? I only speak civilian."

"Oh, sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "I got an early promotion at the Guard. Say hello to Maj. Woody Hoyt."

"Well, that sounds like cause for celebration." She took the bottle from him and tried to hide the traces of unease in her voice.

They sat on the sofa talking of Will's latest doctor visit, and Woody told some gentle little story from his own childhood. The wine and the sound of his voice had lulled her into a state of contentment, and she didn't protest when he lifted her feet and stretched them out across his lap.

"Mmm. That's nice," she murmured as he pressed his thumbs into the center of her tired arches.

His hands ran along the soles of her feet and up towards her ankles. She closed her eyes. His fingertips were rough and traced circles there. She could feel the sofa's coils shift beneath her as he moved closer. He lifted her leg up the length of his chest and kissed her on the place behind her knees that made her weak.

She opened her eyes and let out a startled breath, but she said nothing. He leaned down on the narrow sofa so achingly close she could feel the heat rise from him. He waited for some sign of protest, but she gave him none. She raised herself up to meet his mouth, and it was as if every nerve stood on end.

"God, Jordan, I've missed you." His voice was rough.

She found herself loosening his tie for him, and she fumbled with his shirt buttons. Shoes dropped onto the floor. His fingers slipped under the neckline of her shirt, running along her collarbone to the soft outer curve of her breast. She had ached for his touch for so long she wanted to lose herself in it, to be swallowed up in the moment.

She felt his hands run down to her hips and around front to her zipper. Her eyes were open again. She put her hand on his shoulder and felt as if the words had to be ripped from her chest.

"Woody, no..."

He covered her throat with kisses. "Am I hurting you?"

"_Stop_!"

He blinked in surprise. "What's wrong?"

"_This_. _This_ is wrong!" She wriggled out from under him and withdrew to the corner of the sofa. "We can't!"

He sat up, looking hurt and puzzled. "Why not? I thought things were going well, Jordan. I thought things were working out." He reached out to touch her face, but she brushed his hand away.

"Don't you get it? We can't pretend things are all right, Woody. We can't pretend to be this happy family. If we did this, if you came back now, you know what would happen. Nothing's changed since you left. I've been afraid to ask all these weeks, because I knew what the answer would be, but have you gotten any help? Have you even talked to anyone?"

She hoped he would say something, rail against her even. Anything but the awful silence. Finally, he picked his tie up from off the floor and dropped it around his neck like a noose.

"You're right, Jordan. Nothing's changed. I still love you."

"Then _please. Please please please_." She took his hands in her own and didn't even try to stop the cascade of tears. "Please get some help. There's no shame in it. Please. For us. For Will."

She could feel him go rigid. He slipped on his shoes and pried his fingers from hers. She waited for him to speak or for his stony face to show some sign of emotion. He rose and calmly crossed the floor and closed the door quietly behind them.

She sat on the sofa and hugged her knees to her chest as her sobs subsided. There had been no angry denials this time. He hadn't raged against her. He hadn't even said he wouldn't get help.

It was all she had right now, and she would hold onto that. She smiled to herself. There was hope in that, too.


	13. Coming in from the Storm

_A/N: Hang in there...it's almost over...one more chapter after this! Thanks as usual for your comments! _

XXXXXX

There was some solace in work.

She had found a loving, experienced sitter for Will who had come recommended by Renee Walcott of all people. Her co-workers welcomed her back warmly, and there was a silent understanding that the subject of her marriage was off-limits.

She put new pictures of the baby on her desk, a particularly cute shot of one of his first gummy grins. She debated whether or not it was appropriate to put out a picture of Woody and wondered with grim humor if there wasn't some separated couples' handbook that she needed to pick up.

Woody did not come for dinner that week she started back to work. He left a quick message when he knew she would be out saying he understood she was busy, and he would call her soon to set up a time to see Will.

It sent a chill through her, his choice of words, the formality of it. She had known it couldn't last, this state of being neither together nor apart, but she had always believed that they would get through it. Now, she wasn't sure. Perhaps they would drift further and further apart until a divorce was inevitable. If not for Will, it would be as if they never really existed together.

She thought of him and their last meeting often as she waited for him to call again, and she would have to stop what she was doing until the ache passed through her.

She expected him on Saturday at his usual time. She set an extra plate and laid out Will's pajamas for after his bath, but the hours passed. Dinner couldn't bear another reheating, and Will fell asleep in his swing.

"I give up..." she said quietly to no one, and the thought came into her mind with an unpleasant jolt that she didn't just mean the dinner but their entire relationship. She jumped up and busied herself with the dishes and putting Will in his bassinet, unwilling to even contemplate it. But it was there all the same, a terrifying undercurrent.

It was late, and she could hear the downpour beating against the window. He wasn't coming. She readied herself for bed, aware that sleep would not come easily, and then there was a knock at the door. It occurred to her that it was Woody, but he had a key, after all, and she crossed back into the living room with a puzzled frown.

But it _was_ Woody, standing in the hallway with his raincoat wrapped around him. She unlocked the door, and he hurried in without a word.

"Woody! It's almost ten o'clock..." She said, more concerned than angry. "What are you doing here?"

She turned to him. He paced the living room in restless circles with sheets of rain pouring off of him. He mumbled something, an inaudible apology.

"My God, you're soaking wet! What's going on? Did you _walk_ over here?" She knew that apartment where he was staying was within walking distance, but just barely, and certainly not in a dark, driving rain. He ran his hands over his face, still not speaking. "Woody? Are you okay?"

He nodded vaguely. "I wanted to see you, Jordan. I left my place two hours ago. I've just been walking..."

"In this weather? Woody, it's practically a Nor'Easter out there...Woody?"

He seemed not to hear but stood in the center of the room, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. He shook his head slowly, and droplets of water shook from him.

"You're soaked to the bone," she said gently, trying to conceal the real worry that had crept into her voice. "You need to get out of those wet clothes." He only nodded, teeth chattering, and she undressed him like a child. She shivered as her fingers ran over his damp, bare skin. He had lost weight, and there was a gauntness about him that was startling.

He stumbled through the bedroom into the bathroom, and came out some time later toweling his hair dry, wearing a pair of sweats he had left in the bottom drawer.

"I'm sorry, Jordan. I should have called first." The shower had calmed him, but there was a heaviness in his voice and in his eyes, as if he hadn't slept for days. Perhaps he hadn't.

"It's okay, Woody..."

She had curled up on one end of the sofa with her feet tucked under her, and he sat in the other corner. She waited for him to speak as he drummed his fingers distractedly against the arm of the sofa.

Finally, he spoke. "Do you think it was a mistake? Getting married?"

She looked into the darkened room where Will lay peacefully sleeping. "No," she said, never more certain of a thing. "Do you?"

"I just wanted things to be like they were." His voice throbbed with pain.

"I don't think things will ever be like they were again, Woody."

He nodded in the sad realization. There was a silence, and she held her breath waiting for him to speak again. His eyes flitted anxiously around the room.

"I thought being a cop would prepare me." He spoke slowly, and she could see that tears were rimming his eyes. "I almost died two years ago when I got shot. I thought I was over it. I thought nothing could be any worse than that."

The air around them crackled. She looked over at him, wide-eyed with sudden fear. "It's all right now, Woody," she said in a hushed whisper. It wasn't true. It wasn't all right, perhaps it never would be again, but there seemed nothing else to say.

"I saw some things, Jordan. Some of the things we had to do over there. I can still see them." His voice cracked. "I can hear him. He was right there next to me in the cockpit. Right there one minute. Right there." He let his breath out in a broken sigh and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

She couldn't move; she was paralyzed. He looked up then and spoke. "I'm seeing someone, Jordan."

Her heart trembled. For a moment, she thought he meant he was seeing another woman, but the she knew in an instant that was not what he meant at all. She could feel her own eyes pool, then, too.

"I know it will take some time. But I was wondering if maybe I could have a second chance."

Unable to speak, she could only nod. She pulled him to her, and he buried his face against her shoulder. He was right: this would take time. She knew things would probably be worse before they were better, like the tender new skin on a wound as it heals.

But she would give him a second chance, and if he needed it, she would give him a third, and a fourth, too.


	14. New Beginnings

_A/N: Here it is! Complete! Thank you all so much for sticking with this personal story. Thanks especially to NCCJFAN for her always wise advice._

_XXXXXXXX_

It was a sight that still never failed to bring tears to her eyes.

Exhausted from his first birthday party, Will had curled up on his father's chest, and her two men were snoozing peacefully on the sofa. She sat on the chair opposite them and watched for a long time as Will's little form rose gently up and down with Woody's even breathing.

She hadn't thought moments like this were possible six months earlier. Woody had started therapy, and it had been a slow and difficult process. His near-fatal shooting had stirred up painful memories of his own father's murder, and he had never really healed from that. As a result, he had gone to war emotionally raw and off kilter. Just weeks later, he had faced death again.

Toward the end of the summer, she had started to go to his therapy with him, and pieces of the puzzle had begun to fall into place. He had been seated behind the pilot as the engine quit and the plane plummeted toward earth. There had been long minutes of sheer terror, and then a sickening crash. Even after months of therapy, he had never given all the details, but she gathered the pilot had died in Woody's arms, and his end had been particularly gruesome.

And then there were the missions. He was close-mouthed about just what he had done in Iraq, but she suspected he had been involved in things that no man should have to see. She knew he would never tell, and she would never ask.

It had all been going very well. Woody seemed more himself every day. He hadn't moved back in, but he was spending more and more time with her and Will at the apartment. They had found each other again, and everything seemed wonderful.

But not quite.

There was a nagging at her, something under the surface that she couldn't quite articulate.

It was a hot August evening. They were due to meet at the therapist's office, but the sitter canceled at the last minute. She frantically called Lily, who happily offered to keep Will overnight if necessary but their house was across town from the therapist's office, and the A/C on Jordan's car was broken. She finally arrived at the appointment late, overheated, and frazzled.

She supposed her body language said it all. Woody leaned forward in his seat, talking animatedly to the therapist, while Jordan wedged herself into a corner of the sofa and examined her fingernails.

"What's on your mind, Jordan?" the therapist finally asked.

She looked over at him for a long moment. "Nothing. I'm fine." _I'm fine_. It had become a meaningless phrase in their lives.

She could feel the therapist's eyes on her as she looked blankly out the window.

He was silent for a moment and began a different approach. "Woody's made a lot of strides since we started. You must be very happy."

She squirmed with discomfort in her seat and only raised her eyebrow. The only noise was the squeaking of springs as the therapist leaned back in his chair. "Is there something you'd like to share, Jordan?"

She frowned, feeling like a four year old being reprimanded by her nursery school teacher. Woody had turned to her now with a look of puzzlement. Her eyes fell onto her hands, folded neatly in her lap.

"Jordan?" Woody whispered with concern.

"I want to know why..." she started, her voice rising. "I want to know why it took almost three months. It took you three months after you moved out to get help. _Why?_"

"I don't know," he said in a startled revelation, as if he had never considered the question before. "I think...I was trying to pretend everything was all right."

"But it wasn't. How could you think it was all right? You woke up in a cold sweat every night. You raged at everything and everyone. I asked you to move out because I was afraid for Will and me. I _begged_ you to get help, Woody. I _begged_ you. Shouldn't that have been enough?"

Woody's jaw pumped wordlessly.

"All those months I worried about you. Not knowing what kind of danger you were in. Not knowing if you were coming home. And all those times things went wrong, and you weren't there. Then you came back, and I thought the worrying was over. Do you have any idea of what I went through for you?"

It was selfish, she knew, to ask him that. He had faced death while she had remained safely in Boston. But she had been selfless for too long. There were parades and medals and yellow ribbons for men like Woody. There was nothing for her, and the emotions finally spilled out like a flood.

"Jordan, I didn't know..."

"I was sick with worry for twelve months. For you, for Will, for us. But you kept acting like there was nothing wrong and refused to see anyone. Why? Weren't we worth it?" She shouldn't have asked it. It wasn't fair. But there was a small, fearful part of her that wondered if it weren't true.

"How can you say that, Jordan?" he asked angrily. "All I wanted to do was get back to you and the baby!"

"I thought I was going to lose you, Woody. Why? Why did it take so long?"

"Because..." He shrugged as if he did not have an answer. Then he lowered his head, knowing that he did. The words were difficult. "Because I was afraid of what you might think. I just wanted to be strong for you, Jordan. I thought you might feel different about me."

She drew in a sudden breath and pressed her hand to her mouth to stop the tears. His hand slid across the sofa to her, and she took it. "I love you, Woody. I love _you_. You don't have to be that strong all the time. No one does." She held his hand for a moment and then moved across the seat to him. She wrapped her arms around him. "I'm not giving up on you. I'm not."

When they reached the apartment, they stood there for a moment, exhausted and drained, and then fell into each other's arms. They made love that night, out of need and desire, for the first time since he had left. She felt safe there again in his arms, and they drifted off into dreamless sleeps.

He moved back in later that week, and he had been there ever since.

Life returned to what passed for normal, but she had realized that there was really no such a thing. They fell back into their routines at work. Will took his first halting steps just after Christmas. Woody was still in therapy, but he seemed to need it less and less. They were happy.

But Lily had been wrong all those months ago. He _wasn't _ the same Woody. There was a gravity about him that hadn't been there before, a certain pain in his eyes from time to time. Just when it seemed the nightmares were over, he would awake in a sweat and cling to her in quiet fear until he finally drifted off again. He would never be the same Woody again. But then, she wasn't the same Jordan.

But he hadn't lost the things she had loved about him. He still delighted in awful puns. He still professed undying loyalty to his beloved Badgers. He still loved her and his son beyond measure. And his time in the desert had given him a sense of urgency and purpose that Jordan had never seen in him before.

During the busy holiday season, she realized she was waking up happy first thing in the morning, and she knew it was that way with him, too. Will's birthday approached, and it was full of meaning. It had been a year since he had month since Woody had returned from the desert. This was a new beginning. As she lit the candles on his cake, she knew they had much to celebrate that day.

He blew them out with help from Woody, and Will stuck his fingers in the middle of the cake and held it out for his father. "Daddy eat," he said solemnly, and Woody licked the goo off his chubby little hand.

"Okay, I am truly a dad now," he said through a mouthful of blue frosting. Will giggled happily, and Jordan smiled through her tears.

She'd been weepy like that all day, crying at the simple joys of life. Like this, as Woody stirred beneath Will's sleeping form.

"I don't know how it happened," he whispered, "but I woke up with a one-year-old growing out of my chest."

Jordan smiled and crossed to him. "Here, I'll put him in his crib."

Woody held up a hand. "No, don't. This is kind of nice." She knelt on the floor next to him as he stroked his son's drowsy head. "Speaking of Will's crib...it seems like we're kind of running out of room around here."

She put her chin on her knees. "It does, doesn't it?"

He turned his head towards her. "Maybe...maybe we should think about getting a bigger place."

"I think so. We're going to need some extra bedrooms." Woody's mouth dropped, and she laughed. "No, don't worry. I'm not pregnant."

"Phew," he said, but then his eyes grew thoughtful. "It wouldn't be bad, though. Would it?"

"No. It wouldn't be a bad thing at all. Not right away. But soon, I think." She reached out with a slow smile and stroked his cheek. "That doesn't mean we can't practice."

He grinned lazily. "_Lots _of practice," he whispered back.

Will stirred and then nestled in against Woody's chest. The three of them sat that way, curled around each other, until the sun began to glow red and orange and dipped behind the horizon.

THE END


End file.
